Saturday afternoon is a party girl walking downtown.
Hair up high and her dress too tight.
It’s hot but she doesn’t care. Go ahead and look.
Little kids down at the corner are playing hopscotch and double Dutch on the sidewalk.
Rafael skinned his knee but he won’t cry. He wants to stay outside.
Big brothers comb their hair forever and try to look tough in the bathroom.
This time for sure.
Nobody pays attention to the news on Saturdays except Mr. Gillespie down the block.
You know how he is.
I can hear his tea kettle going on and on and on and on.
Betty is breading up plenty of butter fish in the kitchen down at the Mile High Club.
You know how these college kids get when they come in here after a couple of beers.
“Don’t you slam that door on me! I’m talking to you!”
There they go again – that young couple in Number 9.
Then they come out holding hands and looking shy.
I hear Francine is expecting a baby come November but she hasn’t said so to me.
My mama says it’s a shame – she’s such a pretty little thing.
The sun goes down late in the summer months and that suits me right down to the ground.
Papa says the grill is hot – “Come and get it.” Saturday afternoon.